Читать книгу Freya North 3-Book Collection: Secrets, Chances, Rumours - Freya North - Страница 33

Seb was disappointed that Tess hadn't phoned, disappointed but not despondent. She hadn't phoned him the time before either, after he'd sat in the kitchen of the big house and pulled her onto his lap for that snog and fumble. He'd given her his phone number then, tacked it onto the kitchen calendar himself, if he remembered rightly. He liked to think himself an easygoing bloke, so he was happy to wonder whether Tess simply hated using the phone. After all, his dad did and Seb never doubted his affection. Whenever Seb phoned home long-distance, which he did weekly, if his father answered Seb had come to expect little more than, hullo, son, I'll just pass you on to your mother. Some people just aren't phone people, Seb thought as he checked with his boss at the surf shop if he could take an hour for lunch. As he headed up the bank to Glenside, he rationalized that he couldn't really be disappointed because Tess hadn't actually let him down, let alone blown him out – she said she'd call after all, she just hadn't called yet. He liked her; he'd enjoyed her company in the pub and he'd certainly liked the stuff back at his place afterwards. He was just hoping for an action-replay sooner, he fancied a bit more of that indoor sport. So, he decided to facilitate it – and save her a phone call – by taking an early lunch hour and popping by to arrange another date now.

He really didn't need his fleece on. He pulled it over his head as he walked along Albion Terrace and tied it loosely around his waist. Not bad to be out and about in a T-shirt. Mind you, it would be May in two days. What does she do in that big old house all day, he wondered? Fancy choosing a job in Saltburn that had nothing to do with the beach and actively enforced periods of time indoors. He often marvelled that he was actually paid to do what he did. The job in itself – and the ability to be in the sea most days – was rewarding enough. Meeting someone like Tess was an unforeseen bonus – he'd been here a few months and was intending to stay for the British summer before heading home for the Australian one. He had assumed early on that, other than grandmothers and midriff-baring teenagers, there were few females in the town of his own age and standing. Well, the few he'd seen had rings on their fourth fingers and usually a toddler or two in tow. But then, along came Tess. Toddler yes, ring no, midriff – now he'd seen it – in better shape than most of the teenage contingent of town. There was also something encouraging about a fellow out-of-towner. You could say things like, you know – that place around the corner from the station, off the street where the dodgy pub is, with no shame for not knowing specifics. You could share a private joke at the expense of the locals without it being treason. You had common ground – finding out how each other came to be here and whence each other came.

Here he was, at the house again, the gate closed – but wasn't it always? Yes, he thought it was. Anyway, no harm in trying the bell. He rang and waited and thought the hollow reverberating clang sounded incongruously Addams Family for Saltburn. He was enjoying an image of Tess dressed up as Morticia, when she opened the door in jeans and a grey top.

‘Hey – just thought I'd pop by – just fancied a stroll during my lunch hour.’ He paused. ‘Good weekend? It was nice to see you on Friday – I was wondering if we could, you know, do it again?’

Tess twitched her lip and for a split second Seb thought, shit, she's going to blow me out right now, and he started to back away with an easygoing shrug.

‘I'm sorry – I said I'd call, didn't I?’ And while Tess was relaying the details of Wolf's accident, Seb was thinking to himself, thank you, God, it wasn't me – it was just the old hound.

‘So you'll call, will you – let me know how the old guy is doing?’

‘Of course,’ said Tess, as if Seb's visit had been in Wolf's honour all along. ‘I hope to have him home from the vet's in the next day or two.’

‘Right,’ said Seb, ‘well, I suppose I'd better head back to work, then.’

Tess thought to herself, you ought to invite him in for a cup of tea or a glass of water at the very least after he's tramped all the way up the bloody hill to see how Wolf is. ‘Would you like something? Before you go?’

Yes, he bloody well would. Her hand was on the front door, but he was over the threshold and, with little more than a subtle lean, his mouth reached hers. And once again, Tess found herself being energetically tongued. His hands, today, focusing on her bum. He stepped away and gave her a lascivious wink. ‘Phone me, babe,’ he said. ‘We can pick up where we left off.’

I only meant would you like a glass of water or a cup of tea, Tess said silently as Seb walked off down the drive, turning every now and then to salute or wave to her.

‘He is such a lovely bloke,’ said Tess. ‘I wish I liked him more.’ She stopped. ‘I don't know what to do.’ Suddenly, she was aware that she was alone in the kitchen. She'd been talking out loud forgetting that there was no longer a dog to raise his head and thump his raggedy tail against the flagstone floor at all she said.

The call Tess and Joe were waiting for came after surgery hours a couple of days later, on the Thursday evening, five days after the accident.

Tess phoned Joe directly. They'd been speaking daily. Though Wolf had been taken off the critical list, the calls had continued and had veered off at tangents. Wolf, still the reason for the call, was no longer the purpose of the call. The calls were an exercise in bridge building – Joe forming the support on one side in France, Tess forming the other back in England; Wolf was what they carried, he was the span between the two. The material Joe and Tess were using was mundane chat – and it was proving to be long and flexible. How's the weather with you? they'd ask after the update on the dog. What's Emmeline been up to? Any troubled water under the bridge? It's over a valley, Tess – I told you. Oh sorry, I forgot. Well, you've had other things on your mind. I know – I'll call you tomorrow, if you like. Please do. When's a good time? Any time, Tess – if I see it's home calling, I'll always answer. OK then, I'll phone tomorrow. Good – speak then.

So, Tess phoned him on Thursday evening. Nathalie heard the phone, saw it on the bookcase, but glanced away as if the thing was of no consequence. She increased the volume on the television. She had grown used to these daily calls between Joe and Tess. She took comfort in imagining this house-sitter cum veterinary nurse being square in fashion sense as much as physique. Just some dull, dowdy girl no doubt with a bit of a crush on Joe. He probably barely noticed her. Nathalie told herself to fear nothing – not least because Joe was rampant at the moment, absolutely insatiable.

‘Joe! Your phone!’

He came through, a towel around his waist, little trails of water dinking and darting mercurial paths through the hairs on his legs. It was Tess. If he asked Nathalie to kill the volume, he'd be obliged to take the call right here. If he didn't, he was at liberty to go back to the bedroom, or out onto the balcony – though standing there in just a skimpy towel might be unwise.

‘Chien,’ he said to Nathalie who nodded at the television and didn't touch the remote control.

Joe took the phone back to the bedroom, answering it as he went. ‘Tess?’

‘Joe – it's me! He's coming home – the vet phoned. He's coming home tomorrow. I can go and collect him after surgery hours!’

‘Slow down, woman – say it again?’

So she did, with exactly the same flurry of triumph and relief. ‘What a clever little chappy, hey! Fixing himself in only five days. The vet said he surprised them all. She said she'd write a paper about it! He has to have antibiotics and he'll have to wear one of those flowerpot contraptions around his neck to stop him chewing his stitches. And his dressings will have to be changed – I'm supposed to be doing that last bit, but that's fine with me.’

Joe decided not to interject; he was enjoying absorbing the information and energy.

‘Shall I phone you, Joe – when he's back? When Wolf's home again, safe and sound?’

‘You do that, Tess,’ said Joe. ‘Promise me you'll do just that.’

Tess was enjoying Friday morning very much because later that day she'd be bringing Wolf home and it was a lovely day already, balmy and bright. Spring seemed very last season though the month had only just changed. She and Lisa had met in the playground with plans to feed the children up at the house afterwards. Lisa was extracting the details of Seb's impromptu visit earlier in the week and telling Tess to get herself a bloody mobile phone soon.

‘You can't construct a relationship in the modern age without the power of the text message,’ she said. ‘Most of which I will insist you forward to me, of course.’

‘Who said anything about a relationship!’ said Tess.

‘You need to be contactable at all times,’ Lisa said.

‘Be his beck-and-call girl?’

Lisa laughed. ‘I'll bet he has a great line in dirty texts, love. You must ring him – you will, won't you? He'd be great company while you're dog-sitting.’ Lisa pushed Sam's swing and said, wheee! wheee! before turning to Tess in giggles. ‘You could phone him, Tess. Phone him and say, hey, Seb, fancy coming over to do a little babysitting, doggy style?’ Her raucous glee was infectious.

‘You dreadful woman,’ Tess laughed. ‘The very thought of it.’

‘The thought of it? The thought of a nice buff surfer's bod? The thought of a lad obviously hot for you? Yes – you're quite right, Tess. Dreadful thought – dreadful.’

Tess stuck her tongue out and then returned to pushing Em, thinking about the thought of it. Not so dreadful, really. Perhaps she ought to call him, once Wolf was settled and doing well.

Sam was fidgeting to leave his swing for what Lisa and Tess described as ‘the boingy thing’, but Em objected when Tess tried to coax her out of hers. She didn't mind, she'd always found pushing a swing comforting and meditative.

So when Joe strolled down the hill, under the auspices of filling the fridge but with a private hope of coming across Tess perhaps out for a walk, that's what he saw – Tess pushing the swing, enthralled by some daydream or other if her beatific smile was anything to go by. She'd lifted her face to the sun, she was miles away according to her expression. Joe observed them: Tess and Emmeline, happily lulled by the catharsis of peaceful playground simplicity. He thought, Tess is not wearing a hoody. He thought, her hair has grown longer. He thought, I like the way she's wearing it loose. He thought, shall I back away now and just surprise her at the house – or shall I make myself known, stop and say hello?

His decision was made for him. Tess sensed someone looking at her. When she turned and saw it was Joe her hands fell away from the swing so that when it came back, it knocked her firmly in the stomach. But she didn't seem to notice. She could only stand stock-still, mouth agape as she looked over to him. The swing touched her again, just glancing against her body this time. And then it slowed, as if it was tired, as if that's the end of the ride. And Tess didn't appear to hear Em's protestations. But Lisa did – and Lisa looked at Tess and thought, what's she looking at? And she followed Tess's gaze and alighted on Joe and Lisa thought, who the bloody hell is that?

‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Lisa asked as Tess walked past her, Em flailing her discontent in her mother's arms. But Tess didn't notice and Tess didn't answer Lisa. She just walked straight over to Joe and they stood there, either side of the railings for a suspended moment. Lisa watched them greet each other – him lowering his head a little as Tess raised hers a little. She saw how Tess smiled, that Em had reached out and Joe had given his finger to the baby, putting his other hand gently, briefly, on Tess's shoulder as they spoke intently to one another.

Lisa thought, Jesus, Tess, I'll get you a bloody mobile phone – if ever there was a time to text you to say you dark horse, you dark dark horse you. You never told me you were in love with this Joe bloke.

‘I was just strolling down to pick up some food.’

‘I was just in the playground.’

‘I know – I saw.’

Tess rolled her eyes at herself but Joe just laughed.

‘Do you want to join me, Tess? You're probably more aware of what we need.’

‘Yes, sure. Oh – I mean no. I can't – I didn't bring the buggy.’

‘I see.’

‘Lisa – my friend over there, with the little boy with the curly hair – we meet here.’ And then Tess stopped. She didn't want to tell Joe about her previous plans for lunch in case he said, carry on, don't mind me. The truth was, much as she had grown so fond of Lisa, Joe was back. Joe was here and Wolf would be coming home and everything else would just have to wait.

‘Lisa,’ said Joe vaguely, looking back to the playground.

‘She's lovely.’

‘Well, what do we need?’

Tess thought about it. I need this, she thought, I've missed this.

‘Oh – just pick up what you fancy.’

‘I'll see you back at the house,’ Joe said, doffing an imaginary cap. ‘Back at home.’ He headed down the hill and Tess and Em walked back up it slowly towards the house. She passed Lisa in the playground, now chatting to another mum. Lisa motioned to Tess the universal gesture for ‘phone me’. Tess's response was an expansive, double thumbs-up. Lisa thought, poor old Seb – you don't stand a chance.

Back at the house, Tess gazed at Em who seemed unaware of her mother's state of heightened excitement. Tess dropped to her knees, though the cold flagstones met her, giving her daughter a gentle prod in her rounded little tummy.

‘Em,’ she said in a whisper, ‘Joe's back. Joe's come home. And Wolfy's coming back too and by tonight, everything will be back to how it should be.’

Em held onto her mother's probing finger. Tess touched Em's nose. ‘Wish us luck,’ she said, ‘wish us lots of luck. All of us.’ Em said the word that only her mother knew was ‘nose’ and Tess took time out from her grown-up ponderings to complete the points of the face with her daughter. Yighs. Years. Mowf.

‘Clever Em,’ said Tess, scooping her up and hugging her close. She stood, silent and still. Please let today be lovely.

‘Quick! We need to tidy!’ and Tess scooted off from room to room, flinging up windows, plumping cushions, straightening furniture, checking for dust, her every move shadowed by Em.

Joe returned, laden with shopping.

‘I thought we'd do a simple lunch,’ he told her, busying himself putting stuff away because Tess was standing peculiarly motionless in the kitchen holding Emmeline's wrists, who was standing barefoot on the table. ‘Then we can have a celebratory dinner to toast the return and the speedy convalescence of the Wolfmeister.’

He laid out cheese and crusty bread, some celery sticks and fresh tomatoes, a jar of chutney. ‘Excuse me, Emmeline,’ he said as if Tess wouldn't know that her daughter was in the way but he ended up having to lay the plates and cutlery at the other end of the table and moved the food accordingly. He looked at Tess. ‘You all right? Hungry?’ He nudged her and broke the trance.

‘I'm starving,’ she said, as if she'd just come into the kitchen.

And there they were once again, eating together and chatting away.

‘I can't believe you're here,’ said Tess. ‘Wolf is going to be thrilled.’

‘Wolf won't know what hit him, hey?’

‘God knows what hit him, Joe – but I wouldn't be surprised if it was a steamroller. No one stopped – can you believe that?’

‘Perhaps they didn't realize.’

‘How can you not realize if you hit a dog the size of Wolfy?’

Joe glanced at his watch. ‘So we can pick him up at six?’ ‘You ought to be the one to pick him up,’ Tess said quietly. ‘It should be you to go.’

Joe thought, that's thoughtful. He found his gaze lingering until Tess made a sudden move and said, tea?

‘Thanks,’ said Joe. ‘I'll do a couple of hours’ work, then.’

Tess made him a mug of builder's tea. A KitKat too – he hadn't seen those when he'd put the digestives away. ‘I keep them in the fridge,’ she told him, ‘in the door – where the eggs could go. But it's a trade secret – KitKats taste better chilled and eggs should be kept at room temperature.’ She opened the fridge for emphasis, then pointed to a little wire basket which he remembered seeing in the box in her room, now on the dresser with half a dozen eggs in it. When they both looked at the eggs they couldn't help but catch sight of the photo of Joe in KL right next to them. They'd forgotten about all that. If they started talking about it, they'd have to confront the other stuff too, like mother Mary. It had been easy and lovely thus far. It was a special day. Neither wanted to sabotage it. They glanced away from the photo and stared at the eggs before taking their cups of tea and proceeding with their separate afternoons.

‘Any washing?’ Tess knocked at the study door and used her hushed tone. ‘I'm doing darks.’

‘There's a heap on my bathroom floor,’ came Joe's disembodied voice. ‘Help yourself, if you really want to.’

‘Oh, I don't mind,’ Tess said to herself as much as to Joe as she climbed the stairs, ‘I don't mind at all.’

Tess had so wanted Em to stay awake for Wolf's return – a welcome party befitting him – but though Joe had left before six, over an hour later he was still not home and Em had dozed off. Tess went from window to window, craning a view in any direction. Like a magical omen, the weather was so warm today she'd been able to keep many windows open. At this time of evening, with birds busy singing the glories of the day just gone, the light golden and mellow and promising all good things for tomorrow, the breeze a little fresher but still benign and the dimensions of the house's windows – broad, tall sashes – allowing it all to sweep through the house, the division between outside and indoors became wonderfully indistinct. I ought to change, Tess thought. And then she thought, Wolf won't mind. And she didn't think Joe would mind either.

She went downstairs and opened the fridge. At the playground, she'd asked Joe to buy fresh liver for Wolf. It was there. So was a fresh trout and, by the looks of things, various accoutrements for a fine dinner. She rummaged around. Fresh dill. New potatoes. Where did he find the asparagus? She looked in the freezer: luxury vanilla ice cream. It all made her smile, and it made her hungry too. No good staying in the kitchen, she'd only pick. She went back to the hallway where, in the side return, which was simply an aesthetic space with no prior function, she'd made a parlour for Wolf. His blankets, a cushion, his favourite rubber toy and one of Joe's moccasins. On a tray, his bowls and underneath it all, newspaper to guard against accidents. She'd said to Joe that Wolf could feel part of the action here, without being in the thick of it. He won't want us tripping over him if he does his usual splay halfway across the kitchen floor, she'd said. And they'd both looked pensively back into the kitchen, the expanse of flagstones looking bare and cold without Wolf lolling about in his trademark sprawl.

She glanced at the grandfather clock though she knew the real time bore no relation. She gave the pendulum a swing, as she often did, like she'd seen Joe do. She thought, they must be back soon.

‘He's a soldier, this one,’ the vet says to Joe.

‘He certainly looks like he's been in the wars,’ Joe says, stroking what he can of Wolf. ‘Don't you, old man? You brave old boy. Poor lad.’

‘I have every faith in him,’ the vet says, ‘and in my skills.’

‘He does look a state,’ Joe says affectionately.

‘He was no oil painting before,’ the vet laughs. ‘Were you, Wolf?’

‘No, you're right.’

‘He'll be a conversation starter – you won't be able to go two steps without someone asking all about it.’

‘Well, it'll make a change from being stopped and asked, what the hell kind of breed is that?’

‘Exactly – he'll have a whole new notoriety and a new following too,’ the vet says. ‘Now, in addition to the appointments we've made, I'm going to have the nurse show you how to change the dressings – and what to look for in the tail stump particularly.’

She watches Joe shift. She thinks he's gone a little pale but she can't be sure because she likes a sunbed herself and everyone else round here always looks pasty to her.

‘I'm not very good at – stuff,’ Joe says. ‘Call me squeamish.’

‘Well, Wolf needs you to be good at – stuff,’ the vet says. ‘It's straightforward enough.’

Joe doesn't look convinced.

‘Perhaps Tess could take charge,’ the vet says. ‘She's a capable young woman, that one.’

Joe thinks about this and the vet regards him for a moment, a little quizzically. ‘Do you know how she brought him here? Have you heard? Did she tell you?’

Joe looks confused.

‘Thought not,’ the vet says. ‘Well, I'll tell you. I was actually out in Saltburn on an emergency. She phoned the surgery and asked where we were exactly. The nurse said, Marske and Tess said, where's that – she thought we were in Saltburn. She was given road directions but she said she couldn't come by car so the nurse said, grab a cab, they'll know where we are. So I'm driving out of Saltburn and I came across this sight – some poor girl pushing a galumphing great hound in a kid's buggy while she somehow carried a small child at the same time. She must have done nearly a mile like that. Needless to say, I picked them up. She was frantic.’

‘She could have killed him,’ Joe says, ‘lifting him, transporting him like that – surely?’

‘She probably saved his life, actually. She had him swaddled tightly in a towel. It stemmed the bleeding. It was good for shock. She was killing herself to bring him to us.’

Joe thinks about Tess's car, how it had sputtered into his drive on that first day. About the boxes that were to be left in the boot. He remembers her saying it was low on fuel. He remembers her saying she'd driven his mother back to Swallows. He thought back to how they'd taken his car to the Transporter Bridge. Tussling with the child seat, narking at each other, laughing.

Joe pulls into the drive, turning a slow, careful arc in contrast to his usual gravelly spin. He's seen Tess dart from the drawing-room window, reappearing at the window by Wolf's new quarters. Now she's gone again. He opens the car door and by the time he's eased Wolf carefully onto the ground, the front door has been opened and Tess is standing there, her hands to her mouth. Joe lets Wolf set the pace and he finds himself tottering a little in sympathy. He thinks Wolf is like a very doddery old gent today. Usually, as soon as the car door opens, Wolf has bolted out to careen around his estate as though he's been incarcerated. Not today. Joe looks over to Tess. She takes her hands away from her mouth, crouches a little and opens her arms, like he's seen her do to Emmeline. He can see that she's too choked to speak and that Wolf can't wag in reply because he no longer has a tail, he has a stump swathed by a bright green bandage. All he can do is keep going, wearing the vast white plastic lampshade around his neck like a ludicrous bonnet. He has a bright blue bandage around his foreleg and as he hobbles closer, Tess can see shaved areas and stitches here and there.

They are by her now. She's on her knees, trying to cup Wolf's face in her hands though she has to delve right inside the lampshade to do so.

She looks from Wolf to Joe and back again.

‘You know something,’ she says and Joe is listening though he knows she's speaking to the dog, ‘you look a whole lot better than you did last week, little guy. You look like Wolf again – just in some crazy fancy dress costume. Welcome home, daft dog. Welcome home.’